Chapter 2 Octavius
BY THE TIME MY last scheduled client left, I felt hollowed out from the inside, yet somehow filled to the brim at the same time, my body caught between exhaustion and the urgent need to release everything I had absorbed from today’s workload.
Or rather, from the relentless stream of clients who had come through in the last few hours, one after another without pause.
It always hit like this when I didn’t pace myself, when I let the tide of Crescent Cove’s burdens roll in unchecked, trusting I could carry it all without consequence.
Suctions & Serenity Spa saw its heaviest traffic in the late afternoons, when Crescent Cove seemed to collectively remember that living by the sea did not, in fact, make anyone immune to tension.
The day had started slow, deceptively so, the quiet almost lulling me into a false sense of ease before the floodgates opened without warning.
Clients came in one after another, carrying the weight of their lives as if it had nowhere else to go—except here, in my shop, it did.
My first client had been a sea witch, already rubbing at her temples the moment she stepped inside, probably from brewing too many weather potions in too short a time.
By noon, a merfolk had stumbled in, shoulders knotted from hauling nets through the morning’s rough currents, muscles wound tight from fighting tides.
And then there had been the selkies, not one, not two, but three of them drifting through my door in silent succession.
Two carried the usual aches and pains, the kind that came with long swims and longer days, but the third...
the third had been something else entirely.
Their grief clung to them, thinly disguised beneath polite words about stiff backs and sore necks, but I felt it the moment my tentacles brushed against their skin.
The sorrow ran deep beneath the surface, pouring into me without resistance and settling into an ache that had nothing to do with physical pain and everything to do with loss.
Their partner had recently passed, and that grief had nowhere to go, trapped in every part of this poor selkie, inside and out, with no release except... into me.
I knew I was the only one in Crescent Cove who could truly take that kind of pain from them.
While I wasn’t the only octopus shifter in town, I was the only one who could offer this kind of service, that kind of ease, even if it meant carrying it myself.
No matter what brought them through my doors, they all wanted the same thing in the end.
Relief.
A temporary reprieve from whatever life had sunk its hooks into and refused to let go.
My tentacles handled the visible work, easing through muscle and tension like any ordinary massage parlor might, but that was never the real reason they came to me.
Being an octopus shifter had its perks, and yes, having eight extra limbs helped, but it was what those limbs could do beyond the surface that made my business thrive.
My tentacles could work magic in ways that, even in a magical town, people were still awestruck by.
With each appointment, as I went to work, my tentacles could quite literally take emotions away.
I could feel the sadness, the fear, the anger, and even, at times, feelings that echoed close to love.
I could completely pull those emotions away if that was what the client wished, my suckers pulling the ink stains from their lives and into my own body.
I could absorb it all and feel it on their behalf—for the right price, of course—but even then, there was always a limit.
Absorbing too much, too quickly, was dangerous, something I had learned the hard way long before Suctions & Serenity had ever opened its doors.
But I had control now, having learned to drain it properly over the years when my tank felt too full.
And where better to release emotions that crashed like waves than the ocean itself, in my secret cove that was always right at my disposal.
Releasing it was the only part of this work that ever felt clean.
I would stand at the shoreline, the tide pulling in and out like a steady breath, and let it go.
The stress, the fear, the grief, all of it leaving me in slow, glowing ribbons, bleeding into the water in shimmering hues of blue and silver.
The sea took it without hesitation, transforming something that could be so ugly and painful into something so beautiful.
No one knew just how much the absorption took a toll on my own body.
It was easier for them to convince themselves it was just a transaction, that I took what was requested, held it, and disposed of it with no harm done, leaving them to walk out as happy, stress-free clients.
I never let anyone see how much had built up inside me or how it lingered beneath the surface.
It had a way of bleeding into everything, though. Sometimes I couldn’t even tell if it was the weight of my work or just who I was that made me seem like a broody asshole. No, not seem—I corrected myself. I was a broody asshole, one who preferred his privacy outside of work.
In person, I stayed the calm, controlled shifter they expected, never letting them see how I released it all into the waves.
That part was mine alone, a quiet ritual and my only real escape.
It was what reminded me why I kept doing this, even when carrying everyone else’s emotions felt like too much.
From the outside, the whole process probably seemed simple, but the truth was anything but. Stress and fear had teeth that loved to dig in, and sorrow didn’t slip easily from the body. It clung and burrowed deep until it settled into a person’s very bones and soul.
It was hard, but I had my own rules—knowing when to close the books, dim the lights, and walk down to the cove before the emotions I absorbed turned into something that could take over.
And because I was very good at what I did—and, apparently, stupid enough to keep doing it—I kept the business running.
The final appointment on the books that evening had been a sea lion shifter named Curtis, whose jaw had been locked so tight for so long I briefly wondered if his teeth might crack under the pressure.
He spent the first ten minutes insisting he was “perfectly fine”, as if admitting otherwise would somehow make him less put together, just another shifter in need of a simple massage, no emotional baggage at all.
That illusion didn’t last—it never did—as he spent the next twenty minutes completely unraveling.
His words came in uneven bursts as my tentacles worked along his shoulders and neck, easing tension he had likely carried for weeks.
The stress touched every part of his life—inventory shortages, a cousin siphoning profits from the business, and a mother who took his independence as a betrayal, convinced that moving out meant he “loved her less”.
Together, it formed a heavy mix of stress and guilt.
By the time he left, his breathing had steadied, and the tension had visibly drained from his body. My tentacles took every bit of it, drawing it into me as it threaded through my own body, leaving me tight and on edge.
I remained in the treatment room after he left, my palms braced against the edge of the massage table as my tentacles stretched out behind me. They had deepened to a darker shade of orange after the day’s work, each one twitching faintly from the lingering aftereffects.
After a moment, I pulled them in—not to shift into a more human appearance, that wasn’t necessary here like it had been in Japan—but because I needed to stop watching them move while I tried to breathe through everything I had taken on that day.
I knew I would have to drain it all the moment I closed up.
Luckily, the room itself always centered me. The minimalist design, the lingering scent of salt and amber oils, and the driftwood furniture all carried the same calm, steady peace as the cove.
Suctions & Serenity sat on the quieter end of town. From the outside, the building was modest, with frosted glass windows, a carved wooden sign shaped like a curling wave, and wind chimes strung with shell and silver wire that Mina insisted made the place feel “peaceful.”
Inside, everything was intentional, from the low golden lighting to the dark cedar walls that blended with the scent of amber and salt in the air.
The shop itself was simple, just four rooms: a space for clients before and after, the treatment room, my office, and the waiting room, where Mina seemed determined to make it feel like home, adding her own touches every now and then whenever she decided to “decorate.”
Even with the kitschy knickknacks she brought in, I worked hard to maintain a sense of calm throughout the space.
It was deliberate, necessary even, because if I was going to spend my days absorbing so many emotions, I needed somewhere to steady myself that didn’t require running to the waves after every single client.
The floorboards creaked lightly behind me, a soft, familiar sound that didn’t require me to turn to identify it.
Mina had a particular way of moving, quiet but not subtle, like a tide rolling in under fog, smooth but impossible to ignore.
It was probably the sea serpent in her, graceful, fluid, and entirely incapable of being overlooked.
Mina never did anything halfway, and that was exactly what made her the best secretary and employee I had—my only one, for that matter, because hell, one of her was more than enough for me to handle.
“You look deeply thrilled to be alive,” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, no surprise there.